Sojourners: Farpointe Initiative Book Two

by Aaron Hubble

  She brushed tears from her eyes. “You’re right.”

  Calier pushed away from the gate. “Alright, then. Why don’t we catch up with the group? If we wait any longer they’ll be at the forest before we even get started.”

  A slender arm wrapped itself around Calier’s back, and Berit gave him a quick squeeze. He smiled as he watched her set her face in the direction of the path and move away from her childhood home.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The Valkyrie touched down at the airbase the next morning. The sun had burned through yesterday’s gray clouds revealing a brilliant blue sky, but Dillon had seen another mass of dark clouds over the ocean being pushed along by a stiff wind. The ride back to base had been quiet. No one wanted to speak about what had happened the night before in the power plant.

  Were they questioning his leadership?

  The thoughts were running through his mind as the ramp was lowered. He unbuckled his harness, picked up his gear and looked at his men.

  “Get some rest. We’re back on duty in forty-eight hours. Dismissed,” Dillon said quickly. He wanted off this boat and away from his duties for a little while. Several stiff drinks would probably do the trick, and then he could crash into a blessed unconsciousness on his bed.

  The hold of the ship emptied as his team made their way off and into the morning light outside. A hand rested on his shoulder. Turning, he saw Morris.

  “Do you have a minute, Commander?”

  “A quick one,” Dillon said. The young soldier stood in front of him, his back straight as he looked into Dillon’s eyes.

  “About last night, I wanted to explain. I think I did the right thing. I followed the parameters of the mission, and according to CPF regulations, the commands set by the ranking official trump those made in the field.”

  Dillon stared at Morris for several uncomfortable seconds, holding the man’s eyes, trying to see what was behind them. There was sincerity, but also a heavy dose of pride.

  “Morris, I understand, I do, but I obviously don’t agree.” Dillon took a step closer to Morris. “But you took a stand away from the team and away from me when you vocally opposed me.”

  “Respectfully, sir, over half of the team agreed with me,” Morris said.

  Dillon threw his hands in the air. “That’s what I’m talking about, Lieutenant. You’ve divided the team. There are those who now look to you as a pseudo-leader. The only way this team works effectively is if the men under me follow my orders without questioning my leadership ability or my devotion to the cause of the CPF. Congratulations on driving a wedge through heart of Hildr team.” Dillon turned and took a step toward the ramp.

  “Maybe that’s what needed to happen. Sir.” Morris’ voice came from behind him. Dillon spun on his heel and strode toward Morris until their foreheads almost touched.

  “Pardon me, soldier?”

  Morris didn’t flinch. “Maybe I and several others have questioned your leadership before this point, sir. Can you look me in the eyes and tell me this is the first time you’ve let younger natives go? You did it all the time back on Earth, fighting the resistance, refusing to firebomb that building in Manila because there were women and children inside. When another team made the hard decision and followed orders, they found a cache of weapons.”

  “Not enough to justify the fifty-three innocent lives brutally taken that day. You know better than anyone I don’t back down from a fight,” Dillon said, his eyes narrowing.

  “Do I?”

  The handheld in Dillon’s pocket beeped. He stepped back and broke eye contact with Morris. A message from Colonel Shepherd requested his presence.

  “The colonel wants to talk to me,” Dillon said, slipping the device back in his pocket. “You may get your wish after all.”

  Dillon jerked his pack off the decking of the ship and quickly marched out into the sunlight, leaving Morris alone on the ship. He didn’t want to admit it, but the exchange with a man he had fought and bled with hurt more than any bullet wound he had ever taken. When everything else had fallen apart during a mission, he knew he could always count on Morris to have his back, but now? The young soldier was questioning his leadership and his ability to make the necessary calls in the field. Not only that, but several others were doing the same. Division within a team was never a good thing. It made the length of the field much longer and the opponent standing in your way much tougher.

  He passed his barracks on the way to Shepherd’s office, longingly thinking about that stiff drink and soft pillow. It might be awhile before he saw either of those.

  ****

  The colonel was pacing his small office when Dillon pushed open the door. The man stopped and turned his weathered face toward Dillon.

  “Is it your objective in life to make me look stupid?” growled the colonel.

  “Sir, it is not my…”

  “Shut up, Commander, and listen to me. When I spend hours of my time setting up a mission and laying down the parameters and objectives, do you think I just randomly pull crap out of the air and throw it down?”

  “No, sir.”

  Shepherd moved around his desk and stood in front of Dillon. “When the god-all-powerful leaders of our benevolent Continental Peace Federation decided the best course of action for the entire confederation was to eliminate this low-life scum before they take us out, do you think they did that without thinking it through?”

  “No, sir.”

  “That’s funny, Commander, because your actions don’t convince me. In fact I think you believe your standard of morals is a bit higher, a bit more righteous than the rest of us. Is that true, Commander? Do you think you’ve got this figured out on some higher plane of existence than the rest of us?”

  “Sir, I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

  “You don’t?” The colonels face was red and the cords of his neck strained against his skin. Shepherd moved back behind his desk and tapped the screen sitting there. “Unwilling to complete objectives and questioning the overall mission parameters. That’s from Commander Chen. Abandoning his team and refusing to lead when most needed.” Shepherd looked up from the screen and fixed Dillon with his steely blue eyes. “That’s from your Lieutenant Morris.”

  The colonel stood up straight. “You have one job, Dillon. Follow the orders I give you. When my orders say to grease every dirty native you see, that’s what you do. No questions asked. We have a job to do here that goes way beyond capturing some female indigenous. The job becomes immeasurably harder when you let misplaced compassion rule your decision-making ability. We wouldn’t be doing this if they had agreed to help us. This is a peremptory strike to ensure the continued survival of the human race. Do you get that?”

  “I do, sir, and I agree, but those were children in the building.”

  “Children who were carrying guns. You seem to forget those children were the ones who burnt up a squad with homemade IEDs and then massacred Alden’s men. They weren’t innocent,” Shepherd said.

  “Sir, there were older ones among them. I think they were protecting the kids. Why couldn’t we have let the little ones live, use them as workers?”

  “Because they fought back. They saw we can bleed and die. We can’t have that, Dillon, or a new R3 would spring up here, and then we’d have a real problem. We must utterly crush these people and never let up the pressure or they will rise up against us. When that happens, humanity will lose. Our window of opportunity will not remain open forever. Is that what you want to happen, Dillon?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Finally. Maybe a little understanding.” Shepherd moved back around the desk again. “Still, I think you need time to rethink what it means to be part of the CPF and how important this mission is to all involved. Not only that, but you have internal damage within your squad you need to work on before I can let you back into combat situations. Therefore, you and your team will be running supplies between cities and ferrying stasis units back to the walled city. Now that
we have the power plant and water treatment facility under our control, we’re ready to ramp up the extraction program.”

  “But, sir, Hildr team has the highest capture rate among all the Valkyrie crews. It’s like benching your best player during the title game,” Dillon protested.

  “Sometimes that’s what the player needs. You’re to report to the warehouse in forty-eight hours to receive your orders as to what you’re carrying and where you’re heading. Any questions, Commander?”

  Dillon seethed. He could feel his face reddening. Before the meeting he had had a strong dislike for this man; now it was an outright loathing. In his mind, he imagined what it would be like to grab the man’s head between his hands and slam it into the acrylic desk top. It took all of his willpower not to act on his impulses.

  “No questions. Sir,” Dillon said through gritted teeth.

  Shepherd hesitated for a beat, no doubt making sure Dillon understood the power he held over him. “Dismissed, Commander. Get some rest. Some of those boxes will be heavy.”

  Dillon turned and exited the office, somehow restraining himself from slamming the door with enough force to rip it off its hinges. He stalked toward his barracks, his mind still a tumult of anger directed toward Shepherd and Morris. He yanked the barracks door open. This time Dillon did not restrain himself from flinging the door open with all the force his bio-augmented muscles could produce. It slammed against the aluminum side of the temporary barracks, the knob punching through the thin metal hull of the building. Dillon stared straight ahead without looking at any of his men. He could feel their eyes on him.

  He didn’t acknowledge any of them.

  At least half thought him an unsuitable leader not worthy of the pips on his collar. Jerking the footlocker out from under his bed, he dug into the bottom. Safely nestled under his extra shirts lay what he was looking for. He grasped the bottle, spun on his heel and stalked back out of the barracks. No one said a word or tried to stop him.

  Walking past lines of Valkyrie assault craft and weaving among the heavy land transports, Dillon made his way toward the edge of the base. It took him roughly thirty minutes to cross the base, but eventually he found himself in what was left of the trees that once dominated this area of the city. No doubt it had been a beautiful park at one time, something he lamented for a brief second, but dismissed from his mind. The more practical nature of their mission reminded him of what needed to be done.

  Was Morris right? What about Shepherd? He didn’t think so.

  The small perimeter of trees that still ran around the outside of the base quickly gave way, and he stepped out into mid-morning sun once again. Dillon climbed over a fence running just beyond the trees and walked to the edge of the cliff. Several hundred feet below him, the ocean crashed into the stone; the noise of it drowned out by the magnificent waterfall pouring out of the canyon on his right, the product of the river that ringed the outside of the city. He mused about how much water must be pouring over the side of the cliff, unhindered. The breeze was picking up, and he could smell the salt of the sea. It was a view like no other.

  He sat down and let his legs dangle over the edge of the cliff. Hopefully the rock here was stable, otherwise they’d need to find a new commander for Hildr team.

  Morris would gladly take up the reins, he thought. He probably couldn’t get to Shepherd’s office fast enough.

  He’d never felt so betrayed. Had Morris been planning this? Had he been waiting for an opportunity to make Dillon look bad in the eyes of Command and put a little more shine on his own résumé?

  Or was Dillon just being a pansy? Maybe he was the one who needed to change and rethink this mission. Shepherd was right. It was the most important mission they had ever undertaken. Without the cure these people were refusing to share, humanity would die off, leaving the Earth a scarred hulk to spin empty around the sun until it expanded and burned the planet to a lifeless cinder.

  Dillon didn’t know. He didn’t have the answers. He was just a soldier and that was all he wanted to be. If he wanted back in the fight, he would need to start playing by the rules again.

  But the kids. Their scared faces came back into his mind. Did he want to follow the rules if it meant putting a bullet through the skull of an eight-year-old?

  Again, he didn’t have the answers.

  Dillon held up the bottle of amber liquor. Lagavulin 16 was printed on the label. He had no concept of what that actually meant, but he was sure this was a fine liquor. The distillery was surely long gone, a casualty of the wars that had overrun Earth in the late 21st century. He’d liberated this bottle from the stash of a very well to-do Scotsman who used his philanthropic enterprises as a front to fund the resistance. Apparently it hadn’t been a big enough hit to R3 because they were still “resisting, retaking, and rebuilding” back on Earth. Dillon hated to admit it, but R3 had made significant strides and had claimed large tracts of CPF territory as their own before he left.

  Sydney. That was the start of it all.

  He looked deeply into the light brown liquid as if he could find answers there. Dillon chuckled. Maybe the saying was correct: maybe you couldn’t find answers to your questions at the bottom of a bottle. He tore the thin foil off the top, twisted the cork, and took a healthy swig. He wrinkled his brow as the drink burned his throat on the way to his stomach.

  Nope. No answers in there, but then again there weren’t any real good answers out here either.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Fifteen days had passed since Calier watched Gadol City burn.

  The tree he sat against was rough and uneven. The bark poked through his shirt, scratching his skin.

  He barely noticed.

  There wasn’t a muscle in his body that didn’t ache. Scavenging in the village had been hard work, but pushing his way through overgrown brush and wading through the hip-deep grass trumped those nights. He considered himself fairly fit, especially for his age, but apparently he was not cross-continent-march fit. What surprised and annoyed him most was his inability to get a truly good night’s sleep. Perhaps it was because he was flip-flopping his normal rhythm and sleeping in the day so the group could take advantage of the cover of darkness while they traveled. Maybe it was the stress of what he’d been through, and was continuing to go through, throwing everything off. He didn’t know, and he didn’t care. He just really wanted a solid block of uninterrupted, blissful sleep.

  Pulling off the borrowed boots, he inspected the muddy bandages binding his bare foot. They had endured the brunt of this expedition and had not fared well. Not long into the hike, blisters had erupted like little angry volcanoes. While he was grateful for the boots, they didn’t fit perfectly. Add the wet, sloppy conditions in which they traveled, and it all resulted in feet that felt like they had been beaten with a metal rod and set on fire to finish them off.

  He listlessly picked up his soaked sock and tried to put it on his foot. Overworked muscles fought back, screaming in protest while sending pain coursing through his body. Calier gave it one more lackluster effort and then fell back against the tree, sighing. He closed his eyes.

  What I wouldn’t do for my bed right now.

  Light footsteps approached and stopped in front of him. Opening his eyes slightly, he was able to make out the tattered and dirty hem of a green dress in the waning light of evening.

  Rohab, Ibris’s wife, knelt in front of him. She tsked and shook her head as she examined the battered and ugly appendages at the end of his legs he once had called feet.

  “Professor,” she scolded. “Why didn’t you come to me when your feet first started to hurt? I might have been able to help. Now you just have a mess.”

  He smiled weakly and winced as he pushed himself into a more upright position. Besides being a wife and mother, Rohab had a bit of medical knowledge. Nothing too extensive, mostly advanced first aid and herbal healing type of knowledge she picked up from a grandmother who had been a healer.

  “I didn’t want to b
other you. The boys seem to keep you busy.”

  “Aye, that they do.” The northern brogue rolling off her tongue was like music to Calier’s ear. Not often did someone from the north migrate this far south and settle in the more temperate zones, but people did unexpected things for love.

  Her brow wrinkled in disapproval at Calier’s crude bandaging job.

  “You could at least have asked for advice on how to wrap these sorry excuses for feet.” She began to peel away the filthy wrapping, revealing equally filthy feet.

  “By all that is good on Aereas! You apparently didn’t listen to your mother when she showed you proper hygiene, either. Stay put. I’ll get my kit and dress your feet right proper. You wash them before I get back or I’ll do it, and I promise you, you will not like the way I clean them. Just ask my boys.”

  She stood and placed her hands on her hips. She shook her head disapprovingly.

  “If you had a good woman in your life, Professor, things like this wouldn’t happen.”

  Calier laughed. “Eligible good women my age seem to be in short supply right now, if you hadn’t noticed.”

  Rohab sobered slightly. “Aye, that’s true.” She straightened her dress. “Well, when I find one, I’ll make sure I point her in your direction. By the state of those feet, you won’t make it through the end of the world without one.”

  The woman turned and marched back toward her family, curly red hair flowing behind her.

  That’s a woman used to ruling the nest, for sure, thought Calier.

  Tough and determined, she was the kind of person Aereas needed. He thought if they turned her loose on a battalion of enemy soldiers, she might be able take them all out.

  Or at least scold them into surrendering.

  Steeling himself against the pain he knew was coming, Calier gingerly pushed himself off the ground and hobbled toward the center of the little camp.